REVENANT

In the dark hours I woke and heard the trees That tossed and buffeted before the blast, Straining and sighing while the gale went past; And, as a scourge whose wrath might none appease, The raindrops smote the pane and ran in seas, Gurgling against the frame; now thick and fast, And now like pebbles at the window cast By some lost spirit that could find no ease. And from the blackness of the dripping night I turned me, weary of its sodden gloom, Smiling to see the glow within the room And the red embers on the hearth alight; Then sudden ceased, and bowed my head again, Thinking of that one gravestone in the rain.